Change My Needs
by SparrowBones
Summary: Cristina's found herself in a predicament - fate's put her in an uncompromising position, and it's up to her to decide whether to sacrifice her relationship with Owen for her own happiness. What it comes down to is whether or not she'd be willing to let go of her career for a life with Owen and her baby girl.
1. Hollow

**This is a pairing I've never tried before. I guess I'm just too loyal to Teddy to ever gain a spot within the ranks of all you hardcore Crowen shippers. Anyway, I hope you won't judge me for it, and that you'll enjoy this story. :D**

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><p><em>Minutes go by<em>  
><em>Before you close those eyes<em>  
><em>And everyone breaks down twice.<em>

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><p>Her fingers clenched around the plastic, knuckles flashing white – a reminder of the vile trepidation boiling up inside of her as she awaited the verdict.<p>

All Cristina could do as she bided these torturous seconds away was to chastise herself over her carelessness. It had been one moment of passion out of a hundred, one moment where she'd lost herself to the heat of this fervent love she hadn't had the mind to resist. All she'd been thinking about in that moment was Owen's hands tracing his yearning ardor down the bare skin of her back, and her hands twined in his hair… his lips as they brushed hers like there was nothing he wanted more that to savor the very taste of her soul.

And that fire had burned away the rational thought Cristina prided herself in, the state of mind she used to decide the life or death of a patient lying open on the table.

Surely now, she was facing up to those consequences. The home pregnancy test seemed to be taking its time just to spite her – there was nothing Cristina hated more than not knowing the answers, which was why she had her future mapped out like a blueprint; career first, then life, then love. She was too selfish a soul to anything stand between her and a Harper Avery, and the past she'd long since surrendered had taught her to never lose herself.

So what the hell was that night? Just as Burke had whittled away those little pieces of her so subtly, she'd let Owen do the same by entrusting to him her heart and mind. The Cristina she knew herself to be would never have taken such a dire risk; now, all she could say was that she was only a semblance of who she once was.

What killed her was that she was always so _careful. _Those little white pills had made their way doubtlessly into her hand, night after night. But of course, when she'd truly given herself over to fate and let it decide the path for her, everything had fallen through and let her down.

When her time of the month passed her by, the consternated denial had swept her off her feet; the certainty that kept her afloat in the stormy seas that was her life forsook her all at once. All of a sudden, Cristina had found herself drifting, cut loose like the wreckage of a losing day. But she couldn't muster the courage to find out for sure – no, because what she possessed in talent had sapped her reserves of sentiment. It had taken her days to steal the kit from the clinic, and hours more to steel her nerves to do this. How strange it was that her veins ran inspirited with her reckless bravery when she had her scalpel in her hand, but when faced with reality it was all she could do not to crumble.

Part of her knew she should tell Owen, but every instinct in her screamed against this act that would surely send up walls to corner her; to leave her no choice but to do what any _normal _person would do.

But Cristina had never been _normal. _All her life, she'd grown up believing without a doubt that she was extraordinary. And extraordinary people did not give in to human complications or the weakness of love. Knowing this, Cristina had never wanted a baby – a child of her own would surely grow up unloved and neglected, because she could never love anything more than she loved surgery.

Her dark somberness bore back into her eyes by the reflection of the mirror, and Cristina could put it off no longer. Her fingers, so nimble and steady when dancing that clandestine dance with a ten-blade, now quivered like a leaf left hanging off a branch by the chill of winter.

She flipped the stick around with a hatred that sang her vicious thoughts explicitly clear.

For a moment, Cristina could have sworn her heart had stopped.

As she realized the connotations of this revelation, and the fallout of such a cruelty of fate, all semblance of composure abandoned her; the unbridled fear had translated itself into rage – hatred of Owen for breaking her in such a way that she could never be fixed, and a hatred of herself for betraying the values she held most dear.

_What have I done? _The critical part of her was running through every scenario, every solution that could ever rescue her from the hole she'd dug herself into; they frothed in her mind like a battering sea against the cliffs that had rose to inhibit her. But no matter how hard she tried not to feel them, those human feelings came crashing down stronger than any lie could stand; she knew that this was a battle she'd never agreed to, yet her visor was down and there was no turning back.

"Damn it!" Cristina snarled, hurling the side of her fist into the bathroom tile. In the next moment, the weight of this burden had become too much. She slid to the floor in a defeat that ran far deeper than grief - because, despite her efforts, her life was about change after all.

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><p><strong>I hoped you guys liked this! So, what do you say? Should I continue with this fic or just leave it be? I'd really appreciate your reviews.<strong>


	2. Speaking A Dead Language

**I didn't proofread this, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd tell me in the reviews if there were any mistakes! Enjoy.**

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><p><em>Took some words and built a wall, and called it love.<em>

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><p>This was her sanctuary; this was her reprieve. The OR was a place where the plethora of thoughts stilled in Cristina's mind and yielded to her intellect, a place where she no longer had to feel the constraints of her worry and heartache.<p>

They called her a robot, but the people who'd witnessed Cristina in all her candor would never have. Where she lacked in feeling with a scalpel hefted in her hand, she made up for by feeling with fire in her heart. And it hurt when they called her that, because Cristina wasn't a robot. Indeed, these days she felt like nothing more than a mess of worldly emotions and human flaws, so deep was her anguish.

The cold water and churning roar of the scrub room sharpened her mind to the fight and the blood; it numbed her to what made her human. And Cristina let the safety of this place embrace her as she stepped into the OR.

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><p>"You want to close?" Teddy asked, expecting Cristina to jump at any chance to sew or cut. As it was, she was met with a non-committal shrug. The thrill of the surgery was trickling out of Cristina's veins, leaving room for the thoughts to come flooding back in with a vengeance. She was far too preoccupied to humor Teddy with her usual enthusiasm.<p>

Voice lilting with concern, Teddy furrowed her brow: "What's up with you today?"

The question was so insufficient that Cristina nearly laughed. What was up? Well, her life was about to end – an ultimatum of the cruelest kind had just been handed to her, some lesser god's idea of a cosmic joke. Because how could she possibly choose between her career, which was her lifeblood, and Owen, who she couldn't imagine living without? Once upon a time, this decision would have been effortless, but the years had passed her by and she'd found that love was worth so much more than she thought.

Cristina knew Owen would never forgive her for getting rid of his child. Nothing, not a thousand apologies nor hours of tears could ever hope to heal the rift that would split them apart if she were to kill his baby. But, if she were to keep it – would she ever forgive herself? Or would she forget a time where she was ever happy?

It seemed like there wasn't a choice.

All at once, Cristina knew she couldn't hold it in any longer. The deluge of her pain was one she couldn't shoulder herself, and Teddy just happened to be the one person who might offer the insights Cristina so desperately needed.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted, before her nerves could betray her. But the torment didn't cease.

For a moment, Teddy couldn't say anything. All she could think about was the joy her friend must be feeling at all his dreams coming true. She'd spent many a night under the blank expanse of the desert skies, dreaming Owen's dreams of a family, hoping that one day they'd be fulfilled for him. It spoke to how far they'd both come since Iraq that Teddy's heart swelled with nothing but happiness for her friend.

"That's… that's amazing! Why didn't Owen tell me?" Teddy exclaimed joyously. "I'm so happy for you both."

Cristina cringed at Teddy's exuberance; it chafed with her roiling thoughts in exactly the wrong way. This wasn't the reaction she'd been hoping for.

"No," she said dully. "Not amazing. He… he doesn't know yet." The confession was more to assuage her guilt than anything else.

"You… what?" Teddy said, confused.

And a moment later she knew.

Teddy knew she'd taught Cristina to be more than just a machine; she'd taught her to walk a mile in another's shoes, and open her mind to those who sought to help her. Because of this, Teddy couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You're going to terminate the pregnancy, aren't you?" Teddy demanded, green eyes flashing with a watchfulness that sliced through the last of Cristina's dignity.

"He'll never know," Cristina muttered, feeling small.

"Damn it, Cristina! How can you even think of doing that? It'll break his heart!" All the years of friendship, loyalty and trust Teddy shared with Owen condensed into one moment, chipping away at Cristina's resolve with every word.

Some time ago, Teddy had been like Cristina. Surgeons like them – they were cut from the same mold, crafted by hardships and shielded by shells of an insatiable drive. But Teddy had changed, and rightly so – the happiness she'd found in Henry was boundless in comparison to the small pleasures of her scalpel and her art. For while a physical fault could be mended with a suture here, a stitch there, there was no fixing a broken heart.

Because of her loyalty, Teddy couldn't just stand by and watch Cristina throw away Owen's lifelong dreams with both hands. He'd stood by her time and time again, and it was her turn to do the same. "Cristina, you can't do this. It's not right. Don't you know how much he wants this?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Cristina said, her heartless tone betraying none of her sulfurous guilt.

"It's his baby, too," Teddy pleaded. "Don't you think he has the right to know?"

Cristina had spent many a sleepless night pondering her logic in keeping such a vile secret. "Teddy, I can't tell him! You may think I'm a cruel bitch but all I want is to protect him. He can't lose what he never had."

Deep down, it made sense. But the real part of Teddy, the _human _part – it screamed its protests with an unyielding vigor that called her to speak for her friend.

"Please, Cristina, don't do this." Owen was as close as he had ever been to his dreams, and Teddy could think of nothing more hateful than taking them away.

This abrasiveness had always been the retreat Cristina resorted to when the going came to be too much. "You can't stop me."

"Oh yes, I can," Teddy said, feeling like a voyeur in this affair that had nothing to do with her. She knew she was overstepping in an immeasurable way, but the army had instilled in her a relentless loyalty. It went against the makeup of her nature to concede in a fight – indeed, Cristina was much the same in this way. "Cristina, if you don't tell him – so help me, _I _will."

"Where the hell do you come off getting involved in this?" Cristina snarled angrily, but hoping beyond hope that Teddy would somehow relieve her of the burden of coming clean to Owen.

"He's my friend, and there's got to be a reason you've told me. I care a lot about you both, Cristina," Teddy said softly. "I don't want you to make a decision you'll regret. I know you, and you're never going to let yourself live something like this down."

The truth in Teddy's words was abounding, and Cristina closed her eyes as the undeniable logic salved her convoluted heart. Of course, Teddy was right – the wisdom of her teaching extended far beyond a running whipstitch or the methods to heal a heart, but the doubt didn't weigh lightly on her soul when she considered the alternative for the thousandth time.

As Cristina left to mull over the darkness of her thoughts, she knew what she would do.

And she wondered if she was strong enough.

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><p><strong>How's it going so far? What else do you want to see happen in this story? Review! :D<strong>


	3. All The World (I Tell Myself)

**Anyone heard of Correatown? This is a really great song.**

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><p><em>And all the world can watch the choices you make.<em>

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><p>The ride down an unfamiliar road was too welcoming of the bitter thoughts for Cristina's liking. With the night just starting to fade, there was little traffic to contend with, and Cristina had nothing to distract her from the misanthropy of her cynicism and pain.<p>

Her hands wound firmly around the handlebars, Cristina thought back to a time when she'd felt grounded and safe – but if she was being truthful, she was just as lost as she had ever been. The closest she'd come to finding a strength that could ever hope to anchor her down was in Owen's arms, and who was to say that he wouldn't forsake her if she didn't do this for him? Yet, if there was anything Cristina stood by, it was this: she would never sacrifice who she was just because someone had a problem with it. But wasn't that exactly what she was doing by even harboring the notion of keeping this baby?

The days had woven into weeks, and Cristina still hadn't said a word. The child grew obliviously inside of her as it leached the color from her cheeks and stole the smile from her lips – she knew now that her time was short.

Lately, Owen had been questioning her preoccupation, trying to save her from a plague of demons he could never hope to understand. And each time he extended his strong, strong hands, all Cristina wanted to do was take them – take them, and tell him everything so that he could make this decision for her.

But she couldn't. Every touch, every word between them had been a lie from the moment the pregnancy test came back positive. That was the moment her life had changed for good.

_I can't do this, _Cristina thought. What was so wrong with her that the fundamental female instinct to become a mother instilled revulsion in her rather than yearning? What sort of faults in her flawed personality could have put such a rift between her and every other woman she knew?

The tires of the bike ate away at the asphalt as Cristina rode. For the first time in years, she'd backed out of the night shift, and she'd never needed to before – the hospital was her home, her place of solace, her family. As she pulled into the half-empty parking lot, it seemed to mock her accusingly; she was overthinking, but she couldn't help it. There wasn't a single place for her to park her motorbike, because all of the lots were tailored for cars – people with families, and people who didn't wish to walk alone like she did. She hadn't taken the car because she knew Owen would have wondered why she was out so late at night. Usually, she could count on him to spend the whole night through to the morning in the ER, but she didn't want to take any chances. If he found out what she was here to do…

Cristina shoved the thought out of her mind and took off her helmet. It was a tribute to how she was about to bare herself now – with her armor gone, all it would take was a wrong turn and a split second for everything to come crashing down. Her whole life, razed because of this baby.

She had to get rid of it.

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><p>The scratchy black of the numbers penned in Sharpie had imprinted itself into Cristina's mind; time and time again, she'd looked down at her hand until she had that number memorized. It would solve all her problems, this abortion clinic's booking line. But could her conscience take it?<p>

_I am not meek._ Cristina had never, not once, stood down in a fight.

_I am not selfish. _But she'd never wanted to be the type of person who intentionally hurt someone else, either.

She'd let her fear grow bigger than the faith she had in herself, and she couldn't think of any worse pain. It had taken her this long, but she wasn't going to wait any longer to put things right.

_So tell me I'm wrong or tell me I'm cruel, _Cristina thought bitterly as she picked up the phone. _I'm only doing this for myself._

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><p><strong>I'm leaving you with that cliffhanger because I'm just as sadistic as Shonda is. Sorry, guys! ;D<strong>


	4. Old Friend

**Hang in there, all of you Crowen shippers – the juicy stuff's coming soon. But for now, take some of this Owen angst. **

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><p><em>Old friend, where are you headed for now?<em>

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><p>The drink buzzing through Teddy's veins did little to quell the roiling of her turbulent thoughts – after hearing what Cristina had to say, Teddy couldn't get it out of her mind. She'd been left to an impossible decision with the wars of loyalties tearing her conscience in two, so she'd called Owen just to make sure her bond of silence would settle – one way or another, she was going to end this tonight.<p>

"I'm at Joe's. Is your shift over yet?" Ambiguous words; these were innocent letters bearing the connotations of so much more, weighted with a very human burden. The fire of the next shot Teddy downed bore likeness to the conflict raging within her. If she felt like this, merely bearing the secret, how much more could Cristina take? She'd been holding out on a hope that Cristina might have caved, that she might have told Owen the truth – yet, Owen still came in to work with that ageless weariness written plainly across his face.

No, Cristina hadn't told him.

Lies. They came in all different manners – never just black and white, only gray. Every moment Teddy spent in Owen's company, she was lying with the words she failed to speak; the smile in her eyes grew weaker by the day, the choice hanging over her head marring the small talk and pleasantries she'd been trying to make. And Cristina? She'd been lying to him, denying him a family that he'd so wished for time and time again.

Teddy hoped the alcohol would numb the cutting words she was due to say.

"Teddy?"

She flinched as Owen's voice jarred her out of her irresolution. Covering it with a twisted smile, Teddy murmured: "Oh, Owen. Hey."

"You look nervous," Owen noted nonchalantly. "What's up?"

"It's nothing," Teddy said. Another lie. "Long day, is all."

Gesturing across the bar for a drink, Owen dropped his gaze to an old friend. Years had honed his eyes to pick out her worries and her preoccupations, but the scars between them were too many – he no longer knew Teddy as well as he should, nor trust her as much as he did. "Mine was a long one, as well. The ER's always busy this time of year, what with the ice and all."

Pretending to have heard him, Teddy smiled and nodded. In truth, she was mulling over how far they'd drifted apart – when had the conversations turned to meaningless words about the weather? In another lifetime, she would never have hesitated; she'd have told him right away, because their friendship had meant more back then. Now, she had different loyalties.

"How's Henry?" Owen inquired, continuing the charade of his feigned interest. The beer in his hands was growing warm between the few words he'd spoken since he got here, and the silence was growing uneasy.

Teddy gave a wan smile before replying: "He's doing good. The scans came back clean – thank God."

"Thank your cardio department, more like," Owen teased. "You taught Cristina well."

"Did I?" The skeptical words slipped from Teddy's lips before she could stop them. The facade she'd been bearing with a fierce resolve was starting the crumble; edges fading, she could feel the truth burning away at her tongue, voice creeping up her throat just waiting to be spoken.

"What do you mean?" Owen asked, brow furrowing.

"I mean, if I'd taught her so well, wouldn't she have learned to do what was right by now?"

The defensiveness that reared up in Owen was feral and wild; when Teddy spoke ill of Cristina, the anger started pulsing through his veins before he could reason with it – and, much like Teddy, Owen would go to any lengths to protect those he loved.

But he'd never seen Teddy this way before. He'd witnessed his friend's braveness, her unwavering strength – but not this. Not this fearful, uncertain insecurity.

"Don't be mad," Teddy pleaded, seeing the flames rear up inside of him. "Hear me out."

A moment passed, dead air clinging to every breath. Slowly, Owen nodded, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"I know you'd do anything for Cristina, but would she do anything for you? I mean, she's proven too many times that you don't mean as much to her as she does to you – and don't even try to deny it, because you know it's true. I've taught her long enough to know that her career means more to her than anything –"

"What are you saying?" Owen interrupted flatly.

Teddy took a breath before continuing. "What I'm saying is that what you want may not be what she wants, and it'll ruin the both of you. I care too much to see you destroy yourselves over each other, especially when Cristina hasn't been completely honest with you."

"Look, I don't know where you're going with this crap, but you had better stop talking. I thought we were over this, Teddy," Owen said accusingly.

"I'm not jealous, if that's what you're implying," Teddy retorted, face set in dignity.

"Then what is it? Why are you telling me all of this?"

_Because I don't want to see you get hurt – because you're still my friend, even though things aren't the same anymore. _Raising her forlorn gaze to Owen's, Teddy willed him to read the words in her eyes. She couldn't find the words to say them.

"Cristina's pregnant," Teddy whispered at last under the weight of Owen's stony glare. "She's pregnant, and she wants to get rid of it."

Not a trace of vindication was in her voice as she said it, for she'd only come clean to spare Owen the betrayal he'd have to live through by not knowing. There came a point when her loyalty won out over doing what was right; she had to stop hiding the truth, and stop telling these little white lies. Yet, she couldn't help but feel like a thief now, having stolen the right to a secret that was never hers to tell.

"She… what?" Owen whispered, after a beat of excruciating silence. The momentary shock that flitted across his face was fast fading, turning to a gaze that was rife with grief. And all of his rage, his fierce devotion to the woman he loved – it was ebbing away, only to be replaced by the rawest betrayal Teddy had ever seen on her friend's face.

"I'm sorry," Teddy breathed, pity forging softness in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Owen."

Without sparing her a reply or a fleeting glance, Owen stood up so fast that the legs of his bar stool clattered against the wood. In the next moment, he'd taken to the darkness of a cold Seattle night, leaving Teddy to her regrets in his wake.

_So am I, _Owen thought, eyes as bitter as the wind.

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><p><strong>Hope you don't mind Teddy peeking in. I can't help it – who's to say I can't be addicted to a certain kind of sadness?<strong>


	5. Love, Save The Empty

**I'm determined to break all of your feels this time. Forgive me.**

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><p><em>Oh, why did I give it up to you?<em>

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><p>Catching upon each trouble in his mind one by one, Owen knew that tonight was the night he had to face her. Cristina had held on to this secret for far too long, and it'd sooner kill her than it would him. Owen didn't know if he was ready to ask her, for he feared her answers might crush him. With a relationship built on lies, hate and tears, he couldn't even begin to imagine how they'd ever got here.<p>

Yet, Owen knew he'd have forgiven her anyway if she'd told him the truth from the start. No matter what Cristina had or hadn't done, his boundless clemency would have seen them both through – he loved her enough to say that with a world of conviction. But this was different. This was his family, and Owen stood by his family like he did nothing else. His years in the army had taught him amnesty, but it had also instilled in him a certain fortitude that allowed him to fight ceaselessly for his family.

All these years, his family had been Cristina. Teddy. His friends, both new and old. So why couldn't he bring himself to stand by Cristina's side through all of this disquiet?

Maybe it was because of the debris of his broken trust that still lay scattered around his feet. Owen would have pondered this, but just then the door clicked quietly open and he knew the time had come.

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><p>Immediately after stepping over the threshold, Cristina sensed that something was wrong; she could taste it in the air, for her home had never been so silent upon her return before. There was a chill that raised shivers over her skin, as her instinctive sense of foreboding ran deep.<p>

"Owen?" She called, voice betraying none of her misgivings.

There was no response, bar another bout of eerie silence that was fast wearing upon Cristina's nerves.

"Owen?" Cristina called again, more quietly this time. But as his name left her lips, her voice faltered and died in her throat.

The look on Owen's face said it all.

She'd never known a gaze that could bite like that before. As she neared him, the bitter blame became apparent, and Cristina couldn't help but shrink back; her heart pounded out a frantic tattoo as she waited for him to speak.

Had he found out? Had Owen dug up all the dirt and unearthed her savage secret?

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Owen said at last.

It seemed as though he had.

_He knew. _Cristina knew that he knew, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words – saying them might make them real. The words were like razors on her tongue, chafing to be said and leaving scars in their wake, but Cristina still kept her hold on them. This was how she'd always coped ever since she was a little girl; she'd pretend like nothing was happening and ignore the pain – maybe then, everything would turn out okay. She'd lied and denied and bits of her had died every time she hurt the people she loved, for it was like raising a chisel to hack away at what made her human.

But Cristina – she wasn't a little girl anymore. This was real life, and far from a fantasy. She'd landed herself in an irreparable, hopeless situation, and this was a hole she'd dug herself so far into that she could even hope to see the light again.

Cristina didn't blame Teddy for coming clean – in truth, part of her had hoped that Teddy might be the first to say it so that she wouldn't have to. It was a selfish thing to do, but Cristina had never prided herself in her abnegation.

"Don't I have the right to know whether what Teddy said was true or not?" Owen continued harshly, his voice holding a heartfelt sadness he had no means of putting into words. Never had he felt so betrayed – and his life had been nothing but a progression of betrayals, as far as Owen was concerned. Here he was, facing off with the woman he loved and trying to get her to admit that she'd just made his dearest dream into his very worst nightmare. "How could you be so selfish?"

Cristina bore the battery of his cruel words with the grit of someone who knew she deserved it, but they still felt like knives against her skin when she heard him say them. Biting her tongue to keep her defenses at bay, she knew the least she could do was share in Owen's pain with a regretful silence. After a few more wounds, a few more gashes, Owen seemed to have worn his anger out; his weary sigh was audible in the resounding silence that followed.

Cristina wondered if he was done, if he'd vented and if forgiveness would come soon after. But she knew Owen to well to indulge in her wishful thinking.

"Cristina, tell me. Teddy's told me most of it, but I want to hear it from you," Owen murmured, struggling to keep hold of his composure. "I want to give you a chance."

And Cristina dearly wished she could take it, but her pride had overruled her like it always did. Maintaining her bond of silence with a long-suffering gaze, she couldn't say the words that might have made everything right again.

"I can't believe you would pull something like this," Owen said, more sadness in his voice than anger. Cristina wished he would have kept on shouting – at least then he'd have felt some of her guilt lift from her shoulders. As it was, Owen remained infuriatingly calm, and the shame crept beneath her skin as though it was intent on swallowing her whole.

Finally, Owen had had enough. He was finished with this semblance of civility, and finished with his act of gentlemanliness. This person who conformed to the whims of a girl – that wasn't him. He was Owen Hunt, soldier and leader, and he wasn't born to bow to anyone.

"Fine, if you won't say it, I will. You're pregnant, aren't you? How long have you known, and how long were you planning on hiding this from me? Is our baby still alive? You owe me that much, Cristina. Tell me if our child is still alive."

Cristina blanched at Owen's words, for the Sharpie marks on her hand marks on her hand still burned blackly there. She'd tried to wash them off, to no avail – another piece of evidence to her betrayals.

But Owen was right. Cristina knew he deserved the whole truth and nothing less, but how could she tell him that she'd tried to kill his baby? She'd nearly done it, too – she'd booked that appointment and drove the twenty blocks to seal her fate, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Would he ever forgive her for being so cruel? Cristina knew she couldn't keep the child, but Owen would have opted for alternatives. Adoption, maybe – something that wouldn't deem Cristina a cold-blooded murderer and him so goddamned helpless.

"No," Cristina said slowly and measuredly, voice cracking from its underuse. "No, I didn't kill your baby."

With that, she stood and left the room before Owen could see her cry.

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><p>It had ended with silence, just as it had started. Cristina's unnerving quiet was growing heavy upon Owen's ears as he finally conceded; his questions hurt him just as much as they hurt her, and Owen had limits to his masochism. How he'd ended up being the one who had to sleep on the couch, Owen would never know; yet, he did it anyway. He did it for Cristina, in the hope that he could salvage the very last shreds of the relationship they had left to them.<p>

But at least he knew the truth now.

Owen had endured Cristina's stubbornness when she turned it upon him, but never with something quite like this. So when she'd finally accepted the truth, Owen nearly wished that she'd been lying; his name was the only thing he was really sure of, knowing Cristina had undermined him so greatly and for so long.

How he wished he could save his baby. How he wished that he'd fallen in love with someone who wanted the same things he did, and someone who didn't hurt him the way Cristina surely always would. Yet, what Owen found himself loathing above all else was the knowledge that he'd changed her for the worse – he'd seen the consternation in her eyes as she regarded the child with such deep-set hatred, when before she'd have gotten rid of her demons without a second thought. Without even knowing it, Cristina had been hurting herself over her love for Owen, and Owen couldn't live with himself now that he knew for sure.

Thinking these thoughts drained his soul like nothing else would. With exhaustion fading his weary eyes dark, Owen fell into a fitful sleep with only thoughts of his unborn child on his mind.

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><p>It seemed as though Cristina had stared at the ceiling for so long that she could name every crack that blemished it. As she tossed and turned in this bed that was far too big for one, she tried her best to ignore the cloying chill that gnawed her deep to the bone.<p>

No one had ever told her how cold it'd be. In all her life, Cristina had only known two types of cold, though she suspected there were many more. The first was the chill of a Seattle winter biting into her flesh, but that was nothing – for the other was the freezing burn of guilt that had settled heavily on her heart when she realized she had lost herself.

She'd never meant to hurt him so, and the cold of her empty bed was more than she could bear. So as the sky morphed from a murky blue to an inky, impermeable black, Cristina felt the tears she'd been saving for so long fall at long last.

_I wish I'd told the truth._

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><p><strong>So, what did you think? Follow, like, or leave a review - I'm not picky! ;)<strong>


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